


Star Trek Didn't Show This Part

by flowersforgraves



Category: Farscape
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24972685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: Crichton wonders why thefrellhis life is like this.
Relationships: John Crichton/Scorpius (Farscape)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Star Trek Didn't Show This Part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nelja-in-English (Nelja)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/gifts).



Crichton wonders why the _frell_ his life is like this.

“I hate this,” he says viciously. 

Scorpius looks up. “It’s certainly less than ideal,” he replies. “But I think you’ll agree there’s worse outcomes than having sex, wouldn’t you say?”

Scorpius is definitely not his type, even setting aside all the “tried to steal the wormhole tech from his brain” shit. For one thing, he’s not human. For another, Crichton’s stuck his fingers into the guy’s frelling _brain_ to change out that cooling rod that one time. He really doesn’t want to have to stick his dick anywhere near Scorpius, and he can only think of one thing that’s worse than being in a fuck-or-die situation and having to fuck the guy: being in a fuck-or-die situation and Scorpius has to fuck Crichton.

Of course, because his life is _like this_ , that’s where they’re at right now.

It’d started innocuously enough. A flower, like this is some episode of Star Trek, and the damn thing hadn’t even smelled all that good. Now, half an hour later, he and Scorpius were both horny and desperate. 

(“Look,” Scorpius had explained breathlessly, “I know you don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this either. But --”

“But nothing,” Crichton had shot back. “I’m not about to have sex with you.”)

He’s still extremely set on “no sex with Scorpius”, which seems like a pretty reasonable boundary to have under literally any other circumstance, but as he jerks off yet again, he’s starting to doubt whether it’ll remain intact. This is his third orgasm in less than forty minutes, and his dick doesn’t seem to have gotten the message.

“There are so many other options before we have to try having sex,” Crichton replies, after he realizes the silence has stretched far longer than he means it to.

Scorpius looks at him, trails fingers down the front of his suit. “Are there?” he asks, half-smiling with far too many teeth for comfort. “It seems like you’re exhausting the other option very thoroughly. Not that I mind,” he adds, and if he’s not deliberately trying to be creepy this is far, far worse than Crichton thought.

“Have you been _watching_ me?!” Crichton half-shouts, before deliberately taking his voice down a few levels. 

He’s got that same smile again when he says, “Of course I have, John. My suit isn’t the easiest thing to masturbate in, so I needed to know if it was worth it. The answer is obviously no, so I suppose I’ll just have to fuck you instead.”

Crichton’s hand stills mid-stroke. “Is that a frelling joke?”

“Absolutely not!” Scorpius’ smile widens. “I think we’re going to have to have sex, so if you’re ready?”

“Absolutely not,” Crichton echoes, but he’s _just_ horny enough to not mind when Scorpius grabs his shoulders. For all that he’s still convinced they can solve this in an easier way, he melts into Scorpius’ touch and doesn’t take too much convincing to spread his legs. 

Scorpius uncaps a bottle of something -- Crichton’s not about to ask, because that’s only going to make things worse -- which he smears over the still-gloved fingers of his right hand. “Now, relax, John.”

He can’t help whining when Scorpius pushes one fingertip into his hole. He hadn’t realized just how desperate he was getting, and now that he’s getting even a bit of sexual contact, he’s embarrassingly relieved. Crichton can’t stop himself from half-humping the air and letting out a low whimper, and the savagery of Scorpius’ grin somehow sharpens further at that. “Hurry up,” Crichton says, and his voice breaks on the last syllable. "I wanna get this over with."

“I’m hurrying,” Scorpius says, the annoyance overshadowed by the huskiness of arousal. But his hands are shaking, and if Crichton didn't know better he'd think Scorpius was deliberately slowing down. 

“You better be,” Crichton pants. “Just --” His jaw snaps shut to suppress another whine as Scorpius pushes a second finger into him and curls them. 

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you,” Scorpius muses, as if he’s not also desperately hard.

Crichton glares, wills himself to pull away, and instead of snapping out, “No, I’m really not,” lets out an extremely loud whimper.

Scorpius laughs. His left hand comes up, running his fingers gently over Crichton’s leg, until he can brush one finger over the leaking tip of Crichton’s erection. “Your dick tells me you’re having a _fantastic_ time, no matter what your mouth says.”

“Frell off,” Crichton says, and he can feel his face -- somehow -- heat even more, deepening the already-red blush. His voice comes out hoarse, and that’s somehow the worst of it, that his voice is betraying him like this. Bodily responses he can understand and accept, even if it _sucks_ and he wants it to _stop_ , even if that includes his third frelling orgasm of the day, but his _voice_ is something different. 

Scorpius doesn’t reply, choosing instead to lean in and dart his tongue out (like a lizard, Crichton thinks uncharitably, a weird pale veiny lizard in bondage gear) to taste the sweat on Crichton’s neck. His tongue is weirdly rough, and it sends electric tingles down his spine.

“You owe me for this,” Crichton continues, panting. 

Scorpius drags his teeth down Crichton’s neck, then turns his mouth to Crichton’s dick. “I don’t think so.” The hand that’s not busy with his hole comes up, creeps slowly up his stomach and chest, and closes around his throat. “I think we’ll call it _even_.”

Either this has awakened a kink Crichton had no inkling of before, or this weird sex drug is just making everything hot, but Scorpius’ hand on his throat is _doing things_ for him. The weight reminding him that Scorpius could cut off his airflow, the texture of the glove against the sensitive skin of his throat, it’s all making him somehow even more desperate. He flinches at the prospect of roughness in his voice again, but swallows his disgust at himself and forces himself to say, “Get it over with.”

Scorpius pulls back, and Crichton frelling _whines_ at the loss. It’s small comfort to see Scorpius shaking from arousal when Crichton’s almost worse off -- the few precious seconds it takes for Scorpius to free his cock from the suit seem to stretch on for an eternity. Even now, in the middle of the act, Crichton’s skin crawls with how much he doesn’t want this. “I would’ve been able to just jerk off again,” he says.

Scorpius lines his cock up with Crichton’s hole, returning his left hand up to Crichton’s throat. The pressure is gentle, at first, but as Scorpius slams his hips against Crichton, the grip tightens. Soon it’s hard to breathe, and Crichton can’t tell if his vision is sparking at the edges because of the oxygen loss or if it’s just because Scorpius is somehow fucking him in the exact way he likes. 

If this weren’t… what it is, Crichton would be a lot more embarrassed about how quickly he comes. As it is, he’s more relieved than anything else, which is horrible in its own right. He’ll have to unpack that later.

When Scorpius’ hand around his throat closes off his windpipe altogether, he comes immediately, spilling all over the sleeve of Scorpius’ suit. Clenching around the cock in his hole, he rocks his hips through the aftermath. “Hurry up, Scorp,” he says, voice sounding wrecked. “We don’t got all day.”

Scorpius bites him, hard, teeth digging into his shoulder, and comes. With a shuddering gasp, he pulls out of Crichton, and finally -- _finally_ \-- the desperate arousal is gone. 

“Well,” Scorpius says, only a little shaky, “that could have been a lot worse.”

Crichton bites his lip to keep his comment to himself -- _really, that could’ve been worse?_ and lets the orgasm high drain out of him along with Scorpius’ come. “Let’s never talk about this again,” he says instead. He'll deal with the fallout from this later.


End file.
